


Prompt 15 (Magnus/MC/Ryland)

by Yoselin



Series: L&L Tumblr Prompts [16]
Category: Love & Legends (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14372055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoselin/pseuds/Yoselin
Summary: Originally posted to Tumblr.“Don’t lie to me.”





	Prompt 15 (Magnus/MC/Ryland)

The chains of the prisoners rattle as they walk. The clink of their shackles echoes the pounding of my heart. I feel every sound somewhere deep within me. Perhaps it is my heart’s way of reminding me that I am at their standing.  
I draw my hood tighter against myself and shiver in place.  
The morning-if it can be called that in eternal darkness-is frigid. Ever since the Witch Queen rose to power, every single day has been cold. Spring and Summer have fallen prey to the freezing tides of winter. Time no longer exists and warmth is a long lost memory.  
I bite my lip hard and edge closer to Magnus as another freezing breeze hits me. His armor provides no heat, nor does the cold look he gives me, yet the semblance of warmth is enough.  
“How many prisoners are here?” I murmur it under my breath, not quite sure I am at liberty to speak. After two years of lost freedom, I’ve programmed myself to bite my tongue and keep my eyes down. It is hard to break this habit by talking.  
Magnus glances at me, gives me a dismissing look from the corner of his eye, and leans forward on the balcony so his fists are clenched around the metal barrier. He doesn’t look back at me as he answers.  
“13. We’ve captured the last of Wolfson’s forces and have successfully put down the rebellion. The leader of the resistance is among them. We are victorious at last,” he grins. His smile is as freezing as the air around us. I suppress a shiver.  
I glance down at the line of prisoners being walked one by one to the dungeons. Their heads are down, I can not see if there is anyone I recognize, nor can I find their leader amongst them. Nevertheless, I feel their lost freedom as deeply as I feel my own.  
My fingers dig into my coat and I force myself to reel in my emotions. “That is it then? With the captain gone, our Queen is victorious?”  
Magnus moves away from the balcony, places a hand on my back and guides me forward, he nods his assent. “She reigns true at last.”  
I clench my jaw.  
It has been two years since the previous lord was slain in battle, a year and a half since his retainers scattered, a year since they were each hunted down, and half a year since the lands were conquered and divided up.  
Each General, loyal to the Queen, received their own territory. To Magnus went the human domain. To Jinhai the elven domain. To Lennox the fairy domain. To Helena the dwarven domain. To Yovith the bones of the demon domain. And to Alain the capital.  
Each General received their own lands and their own rewards.  
In the two years that have passed, they have been successful in quelling resistance. Rebels were slain at the blink of an eye, dissent was quelled with force, and hope was extinguished like a match.  
I bite the inside of my cheek.  
The new rebellion, the one that stemmed in the capital and spread outward, was the last chance this world had at hope. Now, it has been put down like the rest and its members have been locked away. Even its leader, as resilient and brave as the stories claimed he was, is in shackles.  
I tighten the coat tighter against myself and force my voice to sound as uncaring and neutral as possible. After two years, I still struggle.  
“What will happen to them? What will become of the prisoners? And the captain?” I pretend to pluck a stray hair from my coat.  
“We will question them,” Magnus replies, “and see how much they know. Once that is over, they shall join their peers at the gallows and their leader shall be first. Our Queen has given the order to stomp out the resistance once and for all. Executing their prized fighter first will ensure further dissent is quelled.”  
I swallow painfully and press my fingers to my sides to keep them from shaking. So that is it then? This is how the world ends. With a final stand against a long lost war.  
My lips press into a thin line as I struggle to come up with a response. My dreams of escape had been nailed to this resistance, and now I feel them crumbling.  
This resistance was the last chance I had. Years ago, when I was taken from the midst of a conquered village, word of rebellion had kept me going. I hadn’t cared what happened to me trapped within these walls as long as a conflict brewed outside. If I could hold out long enough to see the rebellion prevail, then everything I endured was worth it.  
Now, this wish is squandered. I have no idea what I will do now that my shot at freedom has been taken from me.  
“Shall I order the guards to deliver a meal for the prisoners? The kitchen has some scraps,” I suggest. It is the only thing I can think of saying.  
My ears are ringing, my heart is pounding, and the despair of lost freedom is crushing me like a vice. It takes all the strength I have not to shatter like glass then and there. I must remain a pillar of strength and nonchalance before Magnus.  
When I was chosen 2 years ago, it was made clear what my duties were. Obedience and loyalty were high up on that list. If I step out of line, I will pay dearly for it.  
Magnus turns to look at me, blue eyes narrowed into thinly veiled suspicion, and scowls.  
“No. Let them starve,” he points a finger at me, “I want you no where near those men. Stay on your floor of the palace, you hear me?”  
“Yes,” I murmur.  
Magnus narrows his eyes. “ **Don’t lie to me.** Obey.”  
“I will not go near them.”  
Magnus stares at me as if looking for dishonesty. When he finds none, he makes a sound at the back of his throat and begins to walk away.  
With a final warning look, he rounds a corner of the palace and disappears. I watch him, count to a hundred to make sure he is gone, then close my eyes.  
My mind is abuzz with thoughts and plans. It is dangerous to disobey, but I need to see the echoes of the resistance. Perhaps if I see the men that were arrested, see the despair in their leader as they each face the gallows, I will be able to force myself to evade that fate.  
I clench my jaw and spin around. Rather than heading for my floor of the palace, I hurry towards the staircase leading to the dungeons.  
Two years ago, Magnus bid me to obey, but I am not so easily bent. 

Sneaking into the dungeons isn’t difficult. After two years of existing as a ghost in the palace, I’ve learned the art of stealth and secrecy. When your life is in danger every second of the day, when one wrong word can get you hung, or one misstep can end you, you learn to become a shadow.  
Because of this, I emerge into the dungeons successfully. The prisoners have all been locked away and their guards have emerged back into the hallways to await further instruction. This gives me a perfect opportunity to observe each cell.  
I walk through the hall with only the torches from the walls to guide me. I could easily make a fireball in my palm if l wanted to, but that would startle the prisoners. Thus, I am forced to rely on my failing night vision.  
Magnus said there were 13 prisoners earlier. I count the cells as I walk past. Most rows are empty, their occupants catching flies in the mass grave, but some host members of the resistance.  
I walk past each of them, count the steps in my head, and peer in close enough to see the men’s faces. Most are asleep or slowly dying. Magnus’ men spared no rebel in their conquest. Twice, I walk past prisoners slowly bleeding out. Once, I am sure I walk past a corpse.  
Still, I press on. I need to see their leader if only to warn myself. The leader of the resistance was a war hero. He was fabled to be the grandest fighter that had arisen from the ashes of the old Wolfson Retainers. He had risen and taken a place as a leader in order to lead humanity into a new era. The Generals hunted him down for years and were never able to catch him-  
Until now.  
I bite my cheek painfully and slide to a halt in the dungeons. There is now a fork in the hallway leading to opposite directions. One direction leads to the guard office, whose occupant is long past asleep, and the other leads to the cell of the prized fighter.  
I clench my jaw, reassure myself that I won’t be caught, and venture forward towards the cell. 

Unlike the other cells with the resistance fighters, this cell is grandly fortified. The bars are thicker and less spaced out, the light is less illuminated in order to confound the prisoner, and the floor is paved with fresh tracks meaning that the guards have only recently been here.  
I edge closer and wrap my arms around myself in order to keep myself from shivering.  
From my spot far from the cell, I can see a form pacing. The leader of the revolution paces back and forth and presses his hands to his forehead. I can practically hear the gears in his head grinding as he tries to come up with a way to escape. He’s desperate for some idea that will see him free. His hands claw at the cell wall almost as if he will find a hidden latch.  
I clench my jaw.  
There is no escape. Not from that cell. That cell, the one reserved for special prisoners, I know it like the back of my hand. I wasn’t always obedient, wasn’t always so resigned to my fate, so Magnus ensured I slept in that cell often.  
I edge closer and press my fingers to my cheek. Something about the way the man paces, like a caged animal in desperation, makes me feel nauseous. I know that feeling all too well.  
Hands shaking, I clear my throat. The sound is like a thunder clap in the quiet wing of the dungeon.  
“There is no escape from that cell,” I voice out. My words cause the figure to freeze and spin around. He presses to the cell wall and takes a defensive stance.  
I raise my hands in surrender, show him that I mean no harm, and edge closer.  
“That cell houses priority prisoners. Out of all the cells in this dungeon, that one is the most secure. You will never find an escape from that one,” I murmur.  
The figure glares at me, blue eyes narrow in hatred, and presses his hands to the bars. I see a fine web of scars and scabs across his knuckles.  
“There is always a way out. Hope is a powerful tool,” he clenches his fists against the bars.  
I press my fingers to my throat where my bruises ache the most. “Hope is ephemeral and fades like ink on paper. Escape is an impossible goal to achieve.”  
The stranger glares at me, does a sweep of who I am, and curls his lip in disgust. I see the way he takes in my clothing, the finest of silk and lace, and the glinting jewels at my throat. I must look like a noble to him, one of the turncoats that became wealthy when the Witch Queen rose up and appointed a new nobility.  
“Who are you? Have you come to gloat? ‘The rebellion is dead’. Isn’t that what General Richter told General Vestergaard in his speech when I was captured? Have you come to gawk at the ashes that remain?” He presses his face to the bars to get a better look at me.  
I don’t shy away from his gaze despite how hateful it is. Let him see who I am. He only has a few days of life left anyway.  
I raise my chin, clench my hands at my side, and look away from his piercing dark blue gaze.  
“I am no one.”  
He snorts. “Your clothes beg to differ. That cape you wear could feed my ranks for months and the necklace at your throat could provide us all with the finest of weapons. Are you a Renegade? One of those traitors that abandoned Lord Wolfson’s domain in favor of wealth and opportunity? Or perhaps a Bride? A girl that turned coats and married a soldier of the Witch Queen’s?”  
I say nothing. He reaches a bony finger out his cell and points at the ring on my finger. An ancient thing stamped with a crest I’ve grown to hate.  
“Oh, I get it now. The crest on your finger speaks volumes, my dear. I’ve heard your story whispered in the tents of my men as we prepared to fight each night. Your tale is one that the peasantry knows well. You’re Magnus’ bride. The one he whisked away from her family when he conquered the lands,” he shakes his head and gives a bitter smile.  
I clench my jaw so tightly I’m afraid my teeth will break.  
“So I am,” I press my ringed hand to my back in a futile attempt to hide the ring from view.  
The stranger moves away from the cell and sits on the stone cot behind him. His hands go for his jaw and he rubs at the stubble growing there.  
“Your tale is horrific, my dear. Magnus stole you from your family when he saw you during the invasion of the farm lands. He slaughtered your father when he tried to intervene then had your brother brought with you. He killed him too didn’t he? Made you watch as your brother bled to death so that you would know what fate would befall you should you flee. The ring on your finger was enchanted to it. The Sorceress Klein welded it to your skin so that you would be found should you run. You were-and are-Magnus’ little plaything.”  
My hands shake and I clench them tightly behind me. The groves of the ring I’ve grown to detest dig into my palm.  
The rebel is gauging my reactions, taking in every breath I take and blink I make, and assessing for a chink in the armor. I won’t give him the satisfaction.  
I straighten, raise my chin up high, and project false bravado. It isn’t hard, I’ve had years to master it. Magnus often likes to drag me around like a puppet to his meetings with the other Generals and the Queen so I’ve learned to look the part of a confident bride.  
“And you? I’ve heard your story too, my love. You were a former servant to the late Lord Wolfson. You rose to power after the Retainers were slaughtered and led your charge through the lands. Your name was whispered in hushed voices here in the palace, cursed by the Generals in their meetings, and damned by the Witch Queen. You were a legend among men. There was truly hope that you would be the one to depose the Queen. A shame you were undeserving of it.”  
I press my palms to the bars of the cell and lean forward so that he can see me clearly. I want him to see the false confidence in my gaze, want to fool him with it.  
I am a prisoner like him, but at least my leash extends longer. The chord wrapped around me binds me to a monster, but the one around him will be pulled taut in the gallows.  
The stranger glares at me-  
Then barks out a laugh. The sound echoes against the dungeons and I freeze in place worried that the guards will hear.  
He catches this momentary break in my mask and exploits it. He meets me halfway in the cell so that now we are millimeters apart and smirks.  
“Bravo, my dear, you play your part well. You speak high and mighty but I know your story. I used to repeat it to my men to give them inspiration-to let them know why we were fighting. I know you are a prisoner locked up in an ivory high tower with a dragon guarding you. You may fool those out there,” he points past me and out the dungeons, “but you can not fool me. You dress in the finery meant for a Princess, but you and I both know you are no better than me. We are both in chains, my dear, but at least mine are not welded to my finger.” He taps at the spot where my ring is.  
I move away, burn in humiliation and anger, and prepare to stalk off.  
He makes a sound at the back of his throat. “Oh, are we done yet, my dear? A shame. I have no other company.” He curls his finger towards him. “Come back, I’ll be nice to you, I promise.”  
He doesn’t sound very sincere. I clench my jaw and raise my chin to keep walking.  
He chuckles again, faintly amused. “My name is Ryland Goldhart, but you probably already knew that. What is yours, my ivory princess?”  
I make it to the edge of the dungeon, spin around, and glare.  
“I don’t have one.”  
Ryland raises his eyebrow. “Everyone has a name.”  
“Not me,” I raise my hood above my head, “he took that from me a long time ago.”

If there is one thing I hate worse than sharing a bed with Magnus it is eating with him. The dining hall is meant for an entire party of people, yet we are the only two present. The table is long and we sit at opposite sides with only an entire feast of food to hide us from view.  
I hate eating with him because of the quietness. I detest the deafening silence most of all. I can take his insults, his threats, his rage, but I can’t stand his quiet.  
My fingers clench against my wineglass and I raise it to my lips. I take a long mouthful of it, practically drain it in one go, and let it burn down my chest.  
Once I had hated alcohol but now it is a welcome reprieve.  
The silence in the room is palpable, but at least it is almost over. It takes Magnus about 720 chews to finish his meal. Once he is done, I am free to go.  
He’s on his 648. A few more.  
I keep my eyes on him and scan every inch of him. Despite his age, he’s remained fit. Were I to bolt, I would make it fifteen steps before he had caught up to me and slit my throat-  
Or perhaps simply activated the ring around his finger and made mine melt my hand off.  
I take another gulp of wine and let my mind wander. It drifts out of the dining hall and beneath the palace to the dungeons.  
The Resistance is to be executed in three days time, and Ryland will be the first to fall. His death will be a prized affair and every General plus the Queen will be in attendance.  
His execution will mark the end of the rebellion. Once Goldhart falls, it is over. No more challenge to the Queen’s authority, no more revolts, no more anything.  
I scrape my fork against the plate and swirl my food around. I don’t eat, the food tastes like ash to me, but I try to give the illusion of it. Once upon a time I had tried to starve myself if only to die and escape this prison, but Magnus had noticed and seen to that I was force fed with a tube to my nose. Now, I take few bites and give the illusion of eating.  
Ryland’s rebellion was the last hope I had. Out of all the revolts that had come and went, his was the one I could believe would be successful. His men had risen and taken back cities, they had slaughtered cultists and soldiers, and had given the Witch Queen a headache. His revolution was the final chance I had-the final hope I had.  
I swirl my fork around more and chew on my cheek.  
Going to the dungeons tonight had been a mistake, yet it is one I will repeat. What Ryland said about me being a prisoner was true, but I don’t want his mockery or pity.  
I am in shackles, but at least I can feign being free. Even the caged bird begins to sign within its confines if only to give the illusion of liberty. 

“The Generals will arrive on the morning of the execution. They have hunted the Resistance for as long as I can remember and they deserve to be here when Goldhart hangs. The Queen of course will also be in attendance and she will deliver a speech afterwords,” Magnus explains.  
I only half listen. My fingers are at my hair and are twisting the strands into a braid. The action serves as a distraction from thoughts of gallows and executions.  
“You will greet the Generals with me when they arrive. You know the drill,” Magnus glances at me from the mirror. I evade his gaze by fishing around for my hair tie.  
“Yes,” I whisper in reply. Weak though it is, it is enough for Magnus. He nods to himself and removes the last of his armor before setting it in the closet. Now in a loose fitting tunic and pants, he readies for bed.  
I grind my teeth and stand from my place too. I hate sharing a bed with him, but he will not tolerate me staying in a separate room. It isn’t proper for a bride to be away from her spouse.  
I inch like a turtle under the covers and give him my back. I make sure to tuck myself in tightly into my frame and press my lips into a line.  
“It’ll be over once they hang won’t it? The Resistance will be destroyed?”  
The question was more for myself than for Magnus, yet he heard it all the same.  
His hands move for me and turn me around. There is a possessiveness to his grip that makes my heart pulse with fear. I tense in his embrace and stay completely still as his fingers wander.  
“It will be over,” he replies. His voice is barely above a whisper. I tense once more and try to hide my revulsion as his mouth presses to mine.  
In three day’s time, the rebellion will be successfully put down.  
And I will be forever a prisoner. 

My second trip to the dungeon is easier than my first. I hurry past the rows of rebels before entering the secluded wing where Ryland is held.  
When I arrive, he doesn’t turn around. His fingers draw at the dust on the walls and scribble things down.  
“The ivory princess escaped the dragon once more. I was afraid I had scared you away, my dear,” he mumbles out. I cross my hands and clench my jaw.  
“I thought you might not want to starve.”  
I roll an apple into the bars of the cell and it comes to a stop by his leg. He bends for it, gathers it in his hand, and rolls it around in his palm.  
“Eve gave Adam the Apple and cursed humanity,” he taps at it.  
“Adam chose to eat it,” I rebuff.  
Ryland hums and tosses the apple up in the air before catching it. “That he did. I wonder if it was because it was Eve that asked him to do it or perhaps because he was tired of living in ignorance too.”  
Silence reigns then and he makes no move to eat it. I decide not to pry and cross my hands behind my back.  
“You will be executed in three days. I thought you should know,” I reply. He shrugs unconcerned and twists at the stem of the Apple.  
“You have a mark on your collarbone, my dear. It’s red and in the shape of a mouth. I thought you should know.”  
I flush and move my scarf so that it better hides the remnants of last night. “Shut up.”  
Ryland ignores me and continues to work at the apple. “I have to say, I’m surprised that someone of Vestergaard’s age can still keep it up. Impressive.”  
“What is your problem?” I grit my teeth.  
Ryland shrugs and stares at the way the apple reflects the dim lighting of the cell.  
“Nothing, my ivory princess. It’s just that i repeated your story so many times to my men that I believed in it. I used your story to inspire my men to fight, inspire them to rescue you, yet here you are alive and well. I thought there would be more of a haunted look in your eyes when we first met, perhaps even a tear or two, yet you look like any other Renegade. I guess I’m just disappointed.”  
I let his words sink in, turn them around in my head, and look away. “I’ve long ago stopped being a damsel in distress. I’ve accepted my fate.”  
Ryland clicks his tongue. “No, you’ve resigned yourself to your fate. That isn’t the same thing. Hope is a powerful thing that refuses to die no matter the circumstance. It fuels the poor, feeds the starving, and helps the prisoner. You, however, have given it up. That’s a dangerous thing. I told my men to lose their weapons, their limbs, and their minds, but never their hope.”  
I mull over his words, let them register, and rub at the ring on my finger.  
“You’re quite the orator, Goldhart. You’d really give Lennox a run for his money. You have so much hope yet you’re still here in this cage. Hope is a powerful thing, but it’s also a dangerous torture technique. When you have hope, it hurts to see it fail. I rather shed it now than suffer from a shattered spirit later.”  
Ryland snorts and rolls the apple around in his hands. “Giving up your hope is deadlier than seeing it crushed, my dear. Without hope, who are we? I am a prisoner of a cell but you are a prisoner of a palace. I can not roam free physically, but you can not roam free mentally. We are both trapped, but at least I believe that I will one day be set free even if it is death that does so. What can be said about you? Will you ever escape your tower or will you be forever confined?”  
It is my turn to click my tongue now. I claw at the ring on my finger, the skin beneath there itches, yet the magic renders it impossible to scratch. It is just another reminder that there is no hope of me ever making it out.  
“I will never be free and you will only get out of this cell to walk the green mile. Hope is useless,” I argue.  
Ryland pays me no mind. Instead, he continues to twist the stem of the apple. I watch him as the stick gets tighter and tighter.  
“When I was a kid, there was a game people would play with apples. You twist the stem and repeat a chant. When the stem breaks, you have your answer.” Ryland murmurs.  
I frown and say nothing. What need have I of childhood games?  
His fingers work at the stem and he mutters something under his breath.  
“You will be freed. You will not be freed. You will be freed. You will not be freed. You will be freed...”  
He repeats it until the stem breaks. Once it is cut, he raises it to eye level. “Look at that, you will be freed. Maybe you should reconsider your stance on faith.”  
I snort, press my fingers to the bridge of my nose, and look away. “A child’s game will hardly help you escape your shackles. You will only get out when you hang. Accept your fate like I have accepted mine. What good is hope when all is lost?”  
“All is never lost if you still have hope,” Ryland rebuffs. He meets my gaze with his own and I see something burning in his blue gaze. He actually believes what he says.  
I don’t. I stopped believing in freedom when my brother’s blood turned the palace’s white tiles red.  
“I wonder if hope will let you slip out your noose,” I dig my nails into my palms.  
Ryland shrugs and tosses the apple into the air. “Hope is what keeps me from becoming a true prisoner. You should take a page from that, my dear, it just might make your hell less terrible.”  
He extends the apple towards me and drops it at my feet. It rolls to a stop inches away from my shoes. I gather it and raise my eyebrow.  
“You’re not going to eat it?”  
He turns away from me and goes back to writing on his wall. With the dim light of the cell, I can’t tell what he is writing.  
“My men aren’t being fed. I will not eat when I know they are starving. I thank you for the sentiment, my dear, but keep it. Let it bring you some clarity of mind.”  
I make a face, turn it over in my palm, and scoff. “The apple is what cursed humanity. You said it yourself.”  
Ryland makes a sound at the back of his throat. “But it also gave it Enlightenment. You could use some of that.”  
He turns around so that he can see me and taps at his finger where my ring is on my hand.  
“Do not despair, my ivory princess, but hold on to the hope that you and I will one day be free. Yeah?”  
I clench my jaw, spin away, and shove the apple into my coat pocket.  
Hope is useless and believing that I will ever be free is dangerous.  
Ryland is wrong. We are both prisoners, but at least I am not a prisoner to my own false beliefs. 

I strain so that I reach Magnus and finish tying the last of his armor around him. He lets me work before tightening the straps I left too loose and motioning for me to step back.  
I do so and lower my gaze to the floor as he finishes his armor up. Interrogations are always a messy thing and Magnus will need as much armor as possible if he is to question the resistance on his own.  
“Is everything alright?” I whisper.  
Magnus hums. “Fine. I will be gone questioning the prisoners for a few hours. Stay in our room until then and wait for me to return. I don’t want you wandering around the palace. Understand?”  
I mumble an affirmative and don’t raise my gaze. Magnus finishes with his armor and reaches for me. He snags me and tugs me forward so that I am inches away from him.  
“I will be back before you know it. Be a good little wife and obey.”  
He brushes a kiss against my forehead that makes me tense before letting me go.  
I watch him walk away and wipe at the skin of my forehead. Letting him touch me or kiss me fills me with revulsion.  
I long for the time when I wasn’t just his plaything. Long for the time where freedom was something real and not something mourned.  
The apple in my coat feels heavy. 

The remnants of Magnus’ interrogation are plain in Ryland’s face the next day. He has new scabs and dried blood on his mouth and cheek. When I offer to bring him some ice, however, he refuses.  
It is now a day and a half before his execution and I am still making the mistake of coming to visit him. In truth, I have no idea why I continue to come if we fight more often than not, yet I still come.  
“Magnus did a number on you,” I tap at my jaw to show Ryland where the worst of the bruises on his face is.  
“I spit blood at his face so we’re even,” he shrugs. He sits opposite of me in his cell and picks at a scab on his hand.  
I press my knees to my chest and twirl the ring around my finger. It doesn’t actually move, the magic that binds the metal to my skin is too strong, but it serves to clear my head all the same. I work at it despite the pain it causes.  
“I don’t know what the point in interrogating you was. You have nothing to offer.”  
“I’m the leader of a revolution,” Ryland mutters.  
“A failed revolution,” I rebuff.  
Ryland manages to reopen an old scab and fresh blood spills out. He hisses and wipes at it with his finger. I pull out my handkerchief and reach past the bars of his cell. I toss the cloth at him and he catches it.  
“The interrogation was more for him than for the Witch Queen. There is nothing I will give them and no question I will answer. Magnus just delights in torturing others. He’s a sadist.”  
I clench my jaw. I know that well.  
I watch as he ties my handkerchief to his hand and fills the white silk with blood. It reminds me of the way the white floor tiles had turned red with the death of my brother, and the way the grass had been stained with my father.  
“Why did you fight your revolution if some part of you knew you would lose? You had to know it was a lost cause. You were outnumbered by the thousands yet you pressed on.”  
Ryland makes a sound at the back of his throat and meets my gaze. “I believed we could win.”  
I make a face and give another harsh yank to my ring. The skin flares up in pain but the ring doesn’t budge an inch.  
“You and hope. The Generals said you often regaled your men with long speeches and pitiful attempts at sermons, and they were right. You preach faith with every breath,” I mumble.  
“Because I believe, my ivory princess. I believe the Witch Queen will one day be taken down and freedom will reign again.”  
His words are so blasphemous and treasonous that I wince. I glance at the cell wing but there is no one around. Still, his words have made my heart race.  
“Careful,” I hiss, “they say she can hear treason.”  
Ryland laughs out loud. “Then let her hear.” He cups his mouth in his hands and raises his voice just slightly above a whisper-his form of shouting in a dungeon with guards stationed in other wings. “Fuck the Bitch Queen.”  
I wince again and scratch at my arms nervously. I opt to change the subject after another brief pause to see if the Witch Queen will not appear and smite us both.  
“In any case, where did your hope lead you? You’re stranded here with only a day to go before you hang.”  
Ryland shrugs, drags his finger against the dirt on the floor, and scribbles a small doodle of a pattern.  
“I held out in my fight for years, my dear. My men and I liberated a few towns that the Generals still can’t reclaim-“  
“Does it matter?” I interrupt. “A few towns is nothing. The Witch Queen has her military in every corner of the world. A town or two out of her grasp makes no difference-“  
“It made a difference to their inhabitants,” Ryland’s glare pierces me.  
I put my hands up in surrender and let silence sit between us. It lingers for a few uncomfortable seconds before he speaks up again.  
“You get on to me for having hope, yet you never told me why you lost yours. You were taken from your family years ago, but I’ve had men in my Resistance that have lost more and still believed. What made you lose yours?”  
His voice is quiet, unprying, and I clench my jaw. My fingers move to my cloak and I tug at the fabric strands.  
Flashes of memory override me. I see my father bleeding out on the grass and my brother bleeding out in the throne room. The flashes are gone in seconds yet my lungs still constrict.  
I dig my nails into the fabric and try to keep the tears out of my eyes.  
“When Magnus arrived at my village in the Coastal Domain, we were ordered to line up. They wanted to take the able men and women to the front lines. I lined up with my brother, my twin, and my father. Magnus and his soldiers came one by one. They took names, weights, and heights. After a while, they pulled people out one by one and had them march out into the front lines. My brother and I weren’t chosen. My brother was scrawny and I wasn’t strong, we wouldn’t be a good addition to the Witch Queen’s army. I thought that would be the last of it, I thought that meant we could stay with our village, but things aren’t so easy, are they? When we were leaving, I tripped. I went flying to one side and crashed into General Magnus Vestergaard himself. He caught me and moved his hand for his axe, but then he stopped. I don’t know what it was, the fear in my eyes, my youth, my face, I don’t know. But, rather than kill me, he told me he had something better planned. He turned to my father and brother and told them that I was to be his.”  
My throat tightens and I clear it. Ryland’s lips thin. “What happened then?”  
“My father refused. He said he would not let his daughter be taken by a monster. He tried to put up a fight but Magnus was stronger. With one hand around my waist and the other around his axe, he killed him. You know it’s funny, I watched my father die, yet you know what my first thought was? I saw the blood pool on the grass and my first thought was, ‘Can the grass even absorb blood?’”  
I pinch the bridge of my nose as my eyes begin to burn. Ryland says nothing, he just waits patiently for me to continue. I do so.  
“My brother was taken next. The soldiers decided to take him after all. He was supposed to be a bargaining chip for me, you know. He was supposed to be blackmail. I’d stay in the palace and he would fight for the Witch Queen all the while serving as a looming threat to me. An, ‘obey me or I’ll kill your brother’. It never worked out like that. My brother had this disease ...patterns and colors could cause violent attacks. When we got to the palace, he suffered a seizure of his. When Magnus saw it, he realized my brother would be no help as a soldier. So, he realized his bargaining chip was useless.”  
I clench my fingers together. I don’t want to continue but Ryland is quiet. He waits patiently for me to be ready and even extends his hands through the cell of the cage and takes my fingers in his. A silent show of support. My throat burns.  
“He killed him. His blood splattered everywhere and it got on my face. I screamed and screamed until Magnus presses his hand to my mouth and told me to shut up. He told me that same fate would be mine if I disobeyed. Then, to make sure it was really instilled in me, he made me mop up my brother’s blood and dig his grave myself. Then, as if that wasn’t enough to guarantee obedience, he brought General Klein. Magnus was owed a reward by the Queen, so he decided that I would be his. The Queen let him keep me and ordered Helena to ensure I never left. Helena took Magnus’ heirloom and melted it into my skin with her magic. The ring can never be taken off, and Magnus can track me down with it no matter where I go.”  
I finish my story and take a deep breath. My head is pounding from the stress and I let go of Ryland’s hand.  
“Now, wouldn’t that kill your hope too?” I stand from my seat and dust my dress off. “I’ve been trapped in this palace long enough to see multiple revolts like yours spring up and die. I’ve learned long ago not to hold my breath waiting for help anymore.”  
Ryland stands too, dusts himself off, and presses to the bars of the cage.  
“You’ve suffered...but you’re not alone. My Resistance may be quelled but don’t lose hope. You will get out of this, my ivory princess, you will get out.”  
I shake my head and exhale. “Death is the only escape.”

That night during dinner, I suffer through silence again. Magnus is on his 47th bite while I’m on my second wine glass. I try push Ryland’s words out of my mind but they linger.  
Hope is a very dangerous thing that could harm more than help. Ryland is an optimist but optimists are chewed up and spit out in our world. There is no such thing as a happy ending. Not while the sky outside is in eternal night and winter reigns true.  
I reach for an apple from the table and twirl it around my fingers. Magnus watches me carefully yet I ignore him.  
Mimicking Ryland, I twist the stem around over and over again. Mentally, I repeat a chant in my head.  
Hope is alive. Hope is dead. Hope is alive. Hope is dead-  
The stem breaks. I watch it fall to the table quietly.  
Hope is dead. 

The final day of his life rolls around and I find myself once more in the dungeons. For a man about to die tomorrow, Ryland seems to not care. He turns down the meal I brought for him today, a slice of brandy cake, and refuses to budge.  
“You haven’t eaten in three days,” I murmur.  
“My men haven’t either. I won’t eat while they starve in their cells. I thank you, my ivory princess, but I am not that type of leader. Vestergaard may dine with you while his soldiers starve on the front lines, but I won’t.”  
He drags the fork around the ground and scribbles doodles into the dirt. I watch him and grind my teeth.  
“You’re not scared? You’re dying tomorrow Ryland.”  
“I am aware. Death looms over us every day, my dear, I’ve learned not to fear it. When I started my revolution, I knew I would die. I took precautions for it and prepared. I am not afraid now. I just regret I could not live to see this world-and you-free.”  
I shake my head and press my fingers to my lips. “Hopeful until the end. Fitting.”  
Ryland chuckles although there’s no true humor in it. While he may not be afraid of death, he does sound tired all the same. A part of me aches at that, his exhaustion mirrors my own, and I shiver.  
Ryland has often said we are in the same condition. He is right except for the fact that tomorrow will end his suffering while I have to press on. Perhaps that is something to envy.  
The cell is quiet and I am unsure with what to fill it with. I hate the quiet because it is often when my mind is free to wander. It is often when I truly dwell on my situation as a prisoner-  
And Gods above that never ends well.  
Luckily, the quiet doesn’t last. Ryland speaks up after a pause.  
“Why do you stand it? You could fight Magnus, you could escape, you could at least have hope. Why do you refuse to allow yourself the belief that you will one day be free?” He meets my eyes and searches for something.  
I don’t know what it is but he doesn’t find it. Instead, I clench my jaw and hold up my ring for him to see.  
“This. This keeps me here and warns me that I will die if I don’t obey. I’m not like you, Ryland, I’m not ready to die. Death is much more terrifying than Magnus’ wrath.”  
My answer prompts no speeches about hope and dreams. Instead, Ryland’s hands still on his doodle and he clenches his fist.  
“When we first met, I asked you for your name. Will you tell me that now?” He meets my eyes.  
I twirl at the ring again. “I don’t have one.”  
“Everyone has one. What do the soldiers call you? And Magnus?”  
“The soldiers call me Lady Vestergaard and Magnus just addresses me. My name was taken from me a long time ago. To have a name is to have personality and to have personality is to have free will. There is too much room for error in giving me something to classify me as anything other than his wife. Helena wiped my name from my mind a long time ago. I am nothing but ‘Lady Vestergaard’.”  
Ryland shakes his head and presses his hands to his head.  
“That’s ridiculous, everyone deserves a name. You are more than his property, my ivory princess.” He reaches past the bars for my hand. Like yesterday, I give it to him. “What do you want it to be? I will call you whatever you want.”  
I snort, shake my head, and bite my cheek. “I don’t need a name.”  
Ryland persists. He rubs at the ring on my finger almost as if it would remove the crest.  
“Everyone needs one.”  
“Then you choose,” I murmur.  
Ryland thinks for a long time before stroking a pattern across my knuckles. “How about ‘Hope’? A reminder for you to never lose it.”  
‘Hope’. I repeat it a few times to myself almost as if to engrave it into memory. It begins to settle around me pleasantly-  
But I force it out.  
“It doesn’t matter what you call me. You will be the only person that does so anyway. When you die tomorrow, my name goes with you.” I free my hand from his grasp.  
Ryland lets me move away but he shakes his head. “I am not the end, Hope. I am the beginning. When I die, you will not be alone. Don’t lose hope, my ivory princess.”  
Silence rings again. I mull his words over and over in my mind and try to ignore the fact that having a name makes me feel warm inside.  
“I will never be free,” I protest, “I’ve given up hope.”  
Ryland reaches out and writes something out on the dirt with the fork.  
“My Resistance is only the beginning. The Generals have stopped nothing, my dear. I have plans in motion for my death. There are more leaders out there willing to free this world. The Resistance will not end with me despite what the Witch Queen thinks. That I promise you.”  
He finishes writing his phrase. I glance at it.  
‘D-O N-O-T L-O-S-E H-O-P-E.”  
I gnaw on my bottom lip and open my mouth to say something when the sounds of the guards changing posts registers.  
Our time is up.  
My heart pounds in my chest when I realize that the next time I will see him is when he swings from side to side in the gallows. Ryland must come to this realization too because he presses the untouched cake back into my hands as well as the handkerchief I had given him yesterday.  
“Remember me, Hope, and remember what I said. You will be free. That I swear.” He reaches past the bars and strokes the crest ring. “Fight, my ivory princess. Fight and free yourself from your ivory tower. Slay the dragon yourself. Small rebellions can lead to great change.”  
His words sound so final, so parting, it gets hard for me to swallow. I blink away the burning in my eyes and nod.  
“A dreamer till the end, aren’t you?”  
I mean it as a jest but my words bring another wave of heartache. They sound like something that belongs on a tombstone.  
Ryland reaches for my face and wipes at a tear. “Aren’t we all dreamers? Don’t cry for me, Hope. Just live and fight for me. I’ll see you on the other side.”  
I open my mouth to say something, close it, then shake. Backing away, I raise my chin.  
“Goodbye, Ryland.”

The execution date arrives in a shower of breezing servants and running soldiers. Ryland’s death is greater than the Witch Queen’s birthday. The palace is abuzz with activity.  
I eye the two dresses on the bed and bite my lip. The light blue one is Magnus’ favorite because it matches the colors of our Queen, but the dark green one is more fitting for such a somber occasion. I have trouble deciding which to choose.  
Magnus finishes adjusting his formal military uniform and puts a possessive arm around my frame. He nods at the blue dress and fixes my hairpin.  
“Wear the blue one. The Queen likes her people to wear her colors. You will greet her and the other Generals this morning.”  
I nod, mumble out an affirmative, and lift the blue dress up. Magnus puts his hand on my back for a few seconds then spins around. His uniform clinks as he walks.  
“I’ll see you downstairs to greet the Generals. Hurry.” He disappears out the door.  
I watch him go then toss the blue dress back in the closet. I opt for the dark green one and slip it on in a hurry.  
Ryland said that small acts of defiance sometimes result in change. I’m willing to test that theory.  
I stare at myself in the mirror and bite my lip.  
Hope is dead, I mourn its loss every day, but maybe it will come back.  
Ryland’s death today will mark the end of his Resistance, but it will not be the end of the revolution. Maybe it will just be the beginning. Maybe whatever leader Ryland appointed to lead in his stead will finally be the one to free us all.  
I raise my chin at my reflection and claw at the ring on my finger.  
Magnus, when he took me from my family, once bid me to obey and become his puppet bride-  
But I won’t bend so easily. I may not have my hope back, not yet, but defiance is so much harder to kill.  
Thus, I spin around and march down to greet the Generals. Ryland may hang today, but he is only the beginning. I will accept his challenge.  
I will resist and I will reclaim my hope.  
After all, my very name stands for it.


End file.
